


Walking Forward, Never Back

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:23:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle at the Gallows is over and now the Kirkwall crew needs to make their way out of the city. But how can two of their most conspicuous members hide themselves as they flee?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Forward, Never Back

**Author's Note:**

> No beta and no real proofread on this thing, but it's been banging around in my head long enough that it just needs to be out in the world.

Everyone spread out as soon as the boat touched the shore. They had said very little on the short trip back from the Gallows, but in the little discussion they did have they spoke of what might greet them on the the Kirkwall docks and what they would do depending on the tone of that greeting.

When they landed, not a word was spoken, all going in their own directions, except for Fenris, of course, who stuck to Hawke’s side as always.

The two made their way to Hightown through back alley routes and hidden stairwells they had scouted together over the years. Here was a place they cleared a demon. There was where they had rescued a woman from a blood mage. And that spot was where a Qunari had almost stabbed Fenris through the gut.

The trail of blood and gore they had left as a mark on Kirkwall was tempered with pleasant memories, too. Here the place where Hawke first took Fenris’s hand. There a stairway they had stood, kissing when they should have been tracking down a bandit. And there an alcove that had served them well when their post-battle adrenaline had required a more carnal outlet than a mug of ale at the Hanged Man would cure.

As they snuck through Hightown they came circumspectly upon the Amell estate and as suspected, a few guards and a small contingent of Templars, along with some of the general populace were gathered around the mansion. It was not easy to tell if the crowd was friendly or hostile and it could possibly be, if the small scuffle playing out at one side was any indication, a combination of both.

Slipping away unnoticed, they made their way to a crumbling mansion that persistently emanated a faint odor of rot when one stepped too close. Inside they climbed the stairs, still neither saying anything to each other and entered a set of rooms behind what appeared to be a crumbling set of doors. The inside of these rooms had been quietly transformed over the last few months into a haven. One might even say a love nest. A bookshelf of books, a comfortable bed, a sturdy table, and simple but useful cooking apparatus. It was humble and in some ways reminded Hawke of the home he had shared with his family before they left Ferelden. Cozy, simple and with all of their necessities. 

Anything he felt was of true value to himself and his family had been moved here. Many would have expected when he took up with the elf, the former slave would have moved into the much posher Amell estate, and they had made the effort to make it appear so, but in fact the reverse had been true. 

They were there in the quiet for a few hours on their own. Soft talk passed between them, but nothing of import was said. They already knew the plan, at least in general terms, the inevitability that they must leave this place, and both were worn and tired. 

Armor was stripped off, blood scrubbed from skin, minor wounds healed or bandaged. They shared a bottle of wine, sipping slowly so as to calm their razor sharp nerves, but not muddle their minds.

And some time later, there was a sound outside the door. Sword in hand, Fenris moved to open it and there stood Isabela and Varric. They entered quietly, Isabela hugging each in turn, Varric giving a nod before setting down a heavy bag and a bottle of amber liquid.

“Last of the good stuff from under the bar. Thought we could all toast to… something. Or maybe just drink ourselves stupid,” he said with a shrug.

Aveline and Donnic arrived a few minutes later. Neither Sebastian nor Anders would be showing. Merrill was the last to arrive. She carried only a small pack, but had a large basket. 

“A little something to… thought someone might be hungry. And the rest can be for the road.”

They were all bound for Sundermount, at least at first. Some were leaving, some would return in a few days, after things blew over a little bit, staying because they were needed. 

Varric, Aveline and Donnic had work here, a place here, and had no reason to run. Isabela missed the sea and had done enough hoarding and thieving over the years to acquire herself a ship at the next port. Merrill knew the alienage needed her.

“That leaves just you and I, Hawke,” Fenris spoke softly, a hand on the mage’s shoulder.

Hawke placed his own over Fenris’s, nodding.

“It’s over. It’s really over.”

He looked at each of the others, who did not say anything, all looking as worn and thin as he felt.

“Well,” Varric said, “There is one small problem. Getting out of Kirkwall. You two, in particular.”

He looked at Fenris and Hawke.

“We need cover. We’re all fairly recognizable, but change our clothes and we can slip by unnoticed. But you two… everyone knows what you two look like.”

They looked at each other and nodded. It was an unfortunate truth. Fenris’s markings and hair and distinctive armor set him apart from any other elf anyone had ever seen. And Hawke, as Champion of Kirkwall, had shown his face to more people than just about anyone. 

“Disguises then?” Hawke asked.

Varric nodded and toed at the heavy bag he had lugged in. “Disguises.”

The team set quickly to work. Besides changing their clothing, they needed to change their appearance utterly. Hooded figures had a tendency to draw attention and eyes that wanted to know what was underneath.

Hawke’s hair was bleached out, a blond that did not suit his features, and his beard was shaved, the skin feeling naked and raw under his fingers. The face in the mirror looked strange to him, and would in no way be recognized to be the proud jokester that was the Champion of Kirkwall. 

Isabela and Merrill had taken charge of Fenris’s transformation. When he entered the room, Hawke felt his heart skip a beat, the first thing he had felt for the better part of a day. His emotions had been buried deep in the aftermath of battle. But seeing this man before him, he gasped. 

Fenris’s hair had been blackened. A pot of makeup Isabela had snatched from the Blooming Rose masked the markings on his neck and chin and hands. He wore boots and fine woolen leggings, topped with a well-mended linen jerkin that looked like it was tailored for him.

In an instant, Hawke knew who he was looking at. It was still Fenris beneath the surface, but this? This was Leto. And he was breathtaking.

“Hawke?” Fenris asked him, concern in his tone.

“I’m just…” Hawke stepped forward, grabbing his hand. “Come with me. Just a moment?”

Fenris nodded, following along as Hawke pulled him from the room and into one of the spaces they used to store various spoils of battle until they figured out better use for them. There were a lot of torn pairs of pants and moth-eaten scarves along with a pile of less-than serviceable battle axes. 

“What is wrong, Hawke?” Fenris asked again, this time his brow crinkling more intensely with real worry. 

There was no doubt in Fenris’s mind that this final battle, Anders’s destruction of the Chantry, and all that happened with the Knight-Commander could easily push this man over the edge. 

When Hawke turned to face him, he had a dopey grin on his face. That was definitely most worrying. 

“Fenris, you look…” 

Hawke was unsure how to continue. It was no wonder to Hawke why Danarius had used Fenris as more than just a watchdog, the thought angering Hawke as it flickered through his mind. Hawke had fallen for the elf almost at first sight, he was striking. Now to see him as he once was, it was clarifying for the mage. The white hair, the markings, they all served to enhance what was already there. And it was unsettling, putting the real cost of Danarius’s experiments in stark relief. If Hawke felt all this, what must Fenris be thinking?

To Hawke’s relief, Fenris smiled, closing his eyes and nodding in understanding. 

“I have seen what I look like. Isabela showed me before we came back into the room. It is… unsettling in some ways.” 

Hawke stepped closer, his face folding into a look of concern, but he did not speak, allowing the elf to find his words in his own time.

“This is what I once looked like. What Leto looked like. It is temporary, but even so I find it…”

Softly, Hawke asked him, “Does it trigger any old memories? I know something like this can…”

“No,” Fenris replied. “It does not and I am unsure whether that makes me sad or not. Does that make sense?”

Hawke nodded, opening his arms now to pull Fenris in. 

“This however,” Fenris smiled and tugged on Hawke’s now naked chin. “I find most unacceptable indeed.”

And for the first time in days, Hawke laughed, relaxing into the way Fenris allowed this strange wrinkle in an already bewildering and exhausting day to roll off of him with relative ease.

A few moments later, they rejoined their friends for a brief meal while they waited for the sun to set so that darkness could ease their flight.

The journey out of Kirkwall was as challenging as they thought it would be as they were all stopped at various checkpoints and their carefully falsified documents were inspected. Sundermount was peaceful as they made their climb, the billowing smoke of burning buildings and the smell of the docks fading into the distance as they made their way up the familiar paths of the mountain. 

The aravells of Clan Sabrae had moved on, but the land where they had rested was still clear, the fire ring still useful as they made a simple meal.

And as they crawled into the cramped tent together, one of many such nights to come, Hawke pulled Fenris close, nuzzling his nose into the elf’s darkened hair.

“We’ll wash it all out, reverse the process, as soon as we’re well away,” Hawke whispered into his hair.

“Yes, Hawke. We will look ourselves again soon enough.”

“Unless…” Hawke offered. “If you like this, the way you look, I mean.”

His voice was tentative, and he tried to keep his words neutral, not leading Fenris one way or the other. This was not a choice for Hawke to make.

He felt Fenris shake his head against him.

“No, Hawke. I am not him anymore. I am not Leto. For better or worse, I am what Danarius made me. But I am also what I made of myself once I was free of him. I will not move backwards in my life.”

Hawke smiled, kissing his head. 

“Good. Because that stuff makes your head stink.”

Fenris chuckled, playfully shoving Hawke in the chest. 

“Perhaps I should go sleep with Varric then, if it bothers you so much.”

At the threat, even joking as it was, Hawke’s tone shifted, becoming raw once more. “Don’t you dare. Please.”

“Of course, Hawke,” Fenris soothed. “I will not make the jest again.”

Satisfied, Hawke pulled him in close, stroking his hair as they both drifted quickly into a deep slumber. 

Their dreams were fraught and fractured and the night passed far too quickly for real rest to renew them properly. Hawke and Fenris knew that they would greet the day together, as they would for many days to come, but it would be some time before they looked like themselves, felt like themselves, again. 

They were a temporarily blonde Hawke and an ephemerally black-haired Fenris, living in an interstitial space and time where the future felt uncertain and the past felt surreal.

And for now, that was as it should be.


End file.
